Varney the Vampire eBook

“This won’t do,” said the old admiral,
buttoning up his coat to the chin; “Bannerworth
Hall must not be deserted in this way. It is quite
clear that Sir Francis Varney and his associates have
some particular object in view in getting possession
of the place. Here, you Jack.”—­“Ay,
ay, sir.”

[Illustration]

“Just go back again, and stay at the Hall till
somebody comes to you. Even such a stupid hound
as you will be something to scare away unwelcome visitors.
Go back to the Hall, I say. What are you staring
at?”—­“Back to Bannerworth Hall!”
said Jack. “What! just where I’ve
come from; all that way off, and nothing to eat, and,
what’s worse, nothing to drink. I’ll
see you d——­d first.”

The admiral caught up a table-fork, and made a rush
at Jack; but Henry Bannerworth interfered.

“No, no,” he said, “admiral; no,
no—­not that. You must recollect that
you yourself have given this, no doubt, faithful fellow
of your’s liberty to do and say a great many
things which don’t look like good service; but
I have no doubt, from what I have seen of his disposition,
that he would risk his life rather than, that you should
come to any harm.”

“Ay, ay,” said Jack; “he quite forgets
when the bullets were scuttling our nobs off Cape
Ushant, when that big Frenchman had hold of him by
the skirf of his neck, and began pummelling
his head, and the lee scuppers were running with blood,
and a bit of Joe Wiggins’s brains had come slap
in my eye, while some of Jack Marling’s guts
was hanging round my neck like a nosegay, all in consequence
of grape-shot—­then he didn’t say as
I was a swab, when I came up, and bored a hole in the
Frenchman’s back with a pike. Ay, it’s
all very well now, when there’s peace, and no
danger, to call Jack Pringle a lubberly rascal, and
mutinous. I’m blessed if it ain’t
enough to make an old pair of shoes faint away.”

“Why, you infernal scoundrel,” said the
admiral, “nothing of the sort ever happened,
and you know it. Jack, you’re no seaman.”—­“Werry
good,” said Jack; “then, if I ain’t
no seaman, you are what shore-going people calls a
jolly fat old humbug.”

“Jack, hold your tongue,” said Henry Bannerworth;
“you carry these things too far. You know
very well that your master esteems you, and you should
not presume too much upon that fact.”—­“My
master!” said Jack; “don’t call
him my master. I never had a master, and don’t
intend. He’s my admiral, if you like; but
an English sailor don’t like a master.”

“I tell you what it is, Jack,” said the
admiral; “you’ve got your good qualities,
I admit.”—­“Ay, ay, sir—­that’s
enough; you may as well leave off well while you can.”

“But I’ll just tell you what you resemble
more than anything else.”—­“Chew
me up! what may that be, sir?”

“A French marine.”—­“A
what! A French marine! Good-bye. I wouldn’t
say another word to you, if you was to pay me a dollar
a piece. Of all the blessed insults rolled into
one, this here’s the worstest. You might
have called me a marine, or you might have called me
a Frenchman, but to make out that I’m both a
marine and a Frenchman, d—­me, if it isn’t
enough to make human nature stand on an end! Now,
I’ve done with you.”